Carnival Games
by WindowChild
Summary: Draco receives some advice from an odd source, and George pulls his first prank since losing Fred.


"Are you sure you're ready for this?" Ron asked. He'd been unabashedly protective of his older brother ever since the battle.

George sighed, despite his doubt about the day. "I'm sure, Ron. Please don't be worse than Mum." His voice was more tired than joking, so Ron backed off.

"Sorry," Ron replied, "Just… we haven't been back there since –" he cocked his head, namelessly referring to the split between the two eras of their lives.

"I know," George said softly. Ron was one of the few who he felt remotely comfortable mentioning it to at all. He straightened his good robes and tried to brighten up, "So what is this thing, anyway? Hermione bother telling you?" They'd been dating for nearly a year now, and George was surprised about how little Ron gloated.

"She said it's some muggle thing, starts with a c."

George raised his eyebrows, shrugging. "Anything else?"

"Dunno, I think she mentioned games and things." He snorted. "It's made by all the first years though."

George grinned, then sobered. "How've they been this year? I haven't heard much…" Neither Hermione nor his sister had told him much about the new life at Hogwarts. He supposed they assumed he didn't want to hear it.

"I think alright," Ron said, "I don't know all that much. Things are pretty much the same as before." He winced directly after saying it, and hurried to take it back. George stopped him at once; he was sick of everyone treading on eggshells around him.

"What sorts of games?" George asked loudly.

"Uh…" Ron scratched his eyebrow, evidently trying to remember. "Exploding snap tournament? And er, fortune telling?" He sounded doubtful.

"Fortune telling?"

Ron nodded. "Trelawney tells her rubbish, but for sickles. Seems like a waste to me."

George smiled slightly, "I don't know, it could be fun. I've always liked the old bat."

Ron grinned in return. "Something I'll never be able to understand."

* * *

At Malfoy Manor, Draco's mother was prodding him into dress robes.

"This is important, Draco," she said, gently slicking back his blonde locks. "Don't you want to make a good impression?"

Draco remained in the armchair, unmoving. He no longer cared about things like that.

"Darling," she said again, using the term of affection to usher him on. "Please. Your father will be so upset if you don't go."

He scoffed. He'd heard his parents arguing the night before; his father hardly wanted to go at all. "I don't want to," he said blankly, too exhausted with himself to be any more articulate. "I'm not going to that place."

Narcissa quietly left the room, imaginably to find Lucius. Draco sighed, picturing the disagreement in his mind. They fought significantly more than they had when he was a child. Draco guessed that it was because his mother had finally grown a backbone.

At last, Lucius came into Draco's room, looking as dissatisfied as Draco himself. "Alright Draco," Lucius drawled, his accent heavy with haughtiness. "Go to please your mother, alright? She's done so much to make sure that this day would run smoothly."

Instead of wondering what that could possibly mean, Draco grudgingly stood and began to get ready. He wouldn't get his way anyhow. Those days were long gone.

"I'm sorry Draco," Narcissa whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "This will be good though, you'll see."

Draco didn't reply. He headed out to the portkey, silent and expressionless.

* * *

Meanwhile, Hermione was helping the younger students set up their booths. She knew that returning to Hogwarts for the first time would be difficult for many people, and could only hope that the perfect weather was a good omen for the day. So many things could go wrong with the prospect of eleven-year-olds running events.

"No, no Alec," she said kindly, "You don't want to release the owls yet. You have to wait for people to _come_." As hard as she might have tried, they were beginning to exasperate her.

"You're here!" She exclaimed happily, catching sight of Ron and George. She gave Ron a kiss upon the lips, and hugged George. "It's so nice to see you. The children are getting a bit restless." Her gaze traveled nervously to a pair of girls running a whack-the-boggart tent.

George tried his hardest to grin, keeping his eyes on Hermione rather than the surroundings. "I doubt there's much hope, no offence Hermione."

She smiled wryly. "Yes, well, we did our best. Ginny's helping in the kitchen's by the way, Harry's with her."

"They're cooking?" Ron laughed.

"Supervising's more like it," Hermione replied. "Oh, and Bill and Fleur just got here. Are your parents coming?"

The boys nodded. "With Percy, midday," Ron replied, "Charlie can't make it though. He's still packing."

Hermione looked sympathetically at them. "Is it alright? With him leaving, I mean." She hardly got a chance to see Ron during school, and it seemed these brief meetings were the only times she would at all.

George noticed this, and decided to leave them alone. "I'll just go take a look around. See you later, Hermione." She waved goodbye, already talking earnestly to Ron.

George strolled around the tents and booths, marveling at some and laughing at others. It was quite clear which were made by faculty and which by students.

He caught sight of Draco in the distance and felt suddenly annoyed. For some reason, he thought he'd never have to see the Malfoy family again. Then he noticed Draco's own grimace. Perhaps he wasn't the only one on edge about the day.

Suddenly, George began thinking too much. About everyone else, and how they must be feeling. About how this day would be painful for everyone, not just himself. All at once he felt very supportive of the plan for the day; they had the right idea.

Still avoiding looking at the castle, he proceeded down the line of games, a strange idea forming in his head. It could possibly even work…

* * *

Half an hour into the event, Draco decided he would succumb and try a booth. It would be better than withering in the sun, after all. Besides, having spent thirty minutes of not making eye contact with anyone, he felt a bit better than he had in the morning.

He found himself drawn to the large turquoise tent on the right, due to it's mesmerizing decorations. It was obviously not done by a young student. He made a slight face, noticing the sign. Fortune Telling. But he was already inside, and the cool air restrained him from leaving.

"Ah Draco!" Professor Trelawney cried, "How wonderful it is to see you again."

Thinking that he could not manage even the smallest of smiles, Draco merely nodded.

"Sit, sit, my boy! I did know you would come, of course. Who would be more in need of advice than you?"

Deciding not to throw a fit about the insult, Draco sat and tossed a sickle onto the table. From the back of the tent, George smiled. He could only see a tiny bit, but it looked as if things were going according to plan.

"Take a seat," Trelawney repeated, not noticing that he was already sitting. "And let me tell you what I see."

She snatched a crystal ball from the shelf on her cart, discreetly placing Mr. Weasley's galleon in its place.

"Now," she began slowly, "Let me see." She stared into its milky depths, easily pretending that she was reading fate.

"Ah yes, you've done someone a great wrong, haven't you?"

Draco remained silent. He didn't believe that it was true or false.

"Well… from what I can tell, there is only one way to ever redeem yourself."

Draco blanched, due to its ominous sound. "And what's that?" he asked.

"You must apologize," she said, not batting an eyelash. George silently applauded her.

"Apologize?" Draco said sardonically, then with less bite. "Apologize?"

"Of course," Trelawney answered, "It does not require a seer to see that."

"But you saw that? All in there?" As much as he hated divination, Draco's own self-involvement caused him to have slight faith in the prediction. It was too on the nose, and it did not occur Draco that she knew enough about his life to say so without seeing it.

"Oh yes," Trelawney replied, "Your awful deeds, it is the only way to repair them."

"To who?" Draco asked, abruptly intrigued, "To who do I apologize, I mean."

She bent slowly over the crystal, narrowing her eyes for effect. "I cannot be certain," she said, "but I see three shadows. I'm afraid that is all."

Draco felt his chest tighten in fear. "And you say that this is the only way? To redeem myself?"

"Absolutely," Trelawney said.

Draco stood shakily, not wanting to hear anything else. He left then, unsure of his next course of action.

George turned away from the tent, oddly proud of himself. Whatever Draco decided to do, he had given him a warning. He had helped Draco, as much as trick him. Now Draco knew the solution to his sorrowful consumption, and he could decide for himself whether or not he wanted to be saved. It had been a good thing, as much as a mean one.

And at last, George moved his head. Slowly around, his eyes traveling last. A glimpse of the castle. He was pleased to find that the inevitable jolt of pain was not as destructive as it might have been some months ago. He smiled genuinely, wondering what Fred might think of all this.


End file.
